


How Do You Solve a Problem

by thatworldinverted



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Gen, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Hale pack drives off four potential Emissaries in a row, Derek Hale writes to the Emissary's Cloister in desperation. In response, the Abbott sends a young, headstrong, and unlikely Acolyte; a man who might be exactly what the Hale pack needs. </p><p>-or-</p><p>The Sound of Music fusion that someone actually did ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notmissmarple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmissmarple/gifts).



When the first Emissarial candidate left, Derek shrugged it off as common enough. The Cloister did their best, but not every pack found a perfect match on the first try. The second candidate, well. The Hale pack was young, full of high-strung teenagers, and a little... different. It was understandable that the search might take longer. 

The third candidate lasted three months. The fourth didn’t last half that, and she left in a literal huff, wind tearing through the house, shattering the glass in all six of the upstairs windows as the door slammed behind her. Dinner that night was a silent affair, his betas staring down at their plates as Derek’s grip on his silverware went slowly white-knuckled. 

Derek clenched his jaw against the sick ache in his stomach. A pack without an Emissary was nothing. No Emissary meant no one to ward the borders of their territory, no one to heal injuries or illness. Wolves weren’t impervious, and god, how he knew it. A good Emissary acted as the ambassador for their pact. Treaties signed by an Emissary carried the weight of the entire Cloister behind them.

Without an Emissary, the Hale pack would be fodder for whoever came along.

“We’re sorry, Alpha,” Scott whispered.

“I’m not sorry,” said Lydia, tossing copper hair, bright as a penny, back over her shoulder. “She was terrible. Not right for us at all.” 

“I liked her,” said Isaac. 

Erica smirked. “Oh, please. You liked her tits.”

And then they laughed, all of them, these ridiculous children who had no clue, who didn’t understand what it was to feel a dozen pack bonds snap, to choke on ash and the thick stench of death, who wouldn’t just shut their mouths and let him keep them safe-

“Christ, all of you, can’t you be quiet for one fucking meal?”

His chair scraped across the floor in total silence as Derek walked away from the shocked faces at the table behind him. 

\---

After spending all day in his office, glaring at his phone in between attempts to work, Derek caved; emailing the Emissary’s Cloister was far easier than having the humiliating conversation over the phone. If he were honest, Derek wasn’t entirely sure the Cloister would even take his calls, after four candidates had rejected his pack. And they didn’t have to- it was the Emissary who chose the pack, not the other way around. The Cloister would be well within their rights to ignore his petition entirely. 

The fact that the Abbot’s response came within ten minutes did not bode well. Another thirty minutes went by before Derek could bring himself to open it. 

  


>   
>  _Alpha Hale,_
> 
> _I admit, I was surprised by your request. After four unsuccessful candidate trials, I thought perhaps that your pack was simply not ready to take on a Emissary. The Hale pack has been through much; I certainly would not judge you for such a thing._
> 
> _And yet, after reflection, I believe I have the perfect candidate for you. At twenty, he is not yet a full Emissary, only an Acolyte; however, this may make it easier for him to integrate with the young members of your pack. He is certainly possessed of a... buoyant vitality and an exceptionally quick mind. His curiosity is boundless, which will serve him well in a pack comprised not only of wolves, but also an ex-kanima and a banshee._
> 
> _I shall be dispatching Acolyte Stilinski to your residence without delay. You may expect his arrival within three days._
> 
> _Best of luck to you all,_
> 
> _Abbott A. Deacon_

\---

The three days before the Acolyte’s arrival passed in resentful silence. Derek’s attempts at conversation were met with icy disdain from Lydia and an angry snap of teeth from Erica. Scott simply left the room whenever Derek walked in; even Boyd wouldn’t talk to him, and he hadn’t so much as seen Isaac. 

Fine. Fine. If they wanted to act like sullen children, that was their problem. Derek was the alpha, he knew what he was doing, and the sooner the pack learned that, the better. 

At least the quiet made it easier to hear the Acolyte approaching. 

“Hey! Get down here!” Derek’s voice echoed through the house, to no response. 

Alright then.

Derek was tempted to stomp to the door, but he refused to give a bunch of teenagers the satisfaction. He waited for the Acolyte to knock, then calmly swung it open, like a grown alpha in charge of his pack- and nearly choked on his tongue. 

The man standing on the porch was unlike any Emissary Derek had ever seen. He wasn’t wearing the stark, simple robes they favored. He didn’t possess the aura of... stillness they carried, that sense of being at one with the universe. The only reason Derek was remotely convinced the man actually came from the Cloister was the tattoos, crawling up the man’s arms and down his throat. They were dark against pale skin, and they sang of magic to Derek’s senses, practically glowed with power. It was death to be caught wearing them without training from the Cloister. 

“Acolyte Stilinski?”

The man grinned. “Yep, that’s me.” 

It was exceptionally difficult not to ask the man if he was sure. Was this a joke from the Abbot, payback for the four Emissaries his pack had sent running?

“Well, uh... come in,” Derek said. 

Derek really should’ve seen it coming. They were barely two feet inside the house when a half-shifted wolf hurtled over the second floor balcony and threw itself towards the man who appeared to be their new Acolyte. Derek’s arms were outstretched in an instant, already moving to pull the man out of the way, when he blinked, blinked again, and then flat-out stared.

Erica was just... dangling there, in mid-air, while the Acolyte wagged his finger at her. He hadn’t even stopped grinning. 

“Now, now, none of that, huh? I don’t let anyone pounce on me before we’ve been officially introduced,” the Acolyte said, as he lowered her slowly to the ground. 

By the time she reached it, the rest of the pack had thundered down the stairs. They stood there, staring, with the same expression of dumb surprise that Derek was sure was plastered all over his own face. 

“So you are...” the Acolyte prompted. 

Erica let her wolf-form melt away, leaving her naked as a jaybird as she grinned saucily up at him. Jesus. They’d be luckily if this one stayed a whole day. 

“I’m Erica.” 

“That was some badass pouncing you’ve got going there, Erica, but you’re going to have to work on your sneaking if you want to get the jump on someone with some magical training.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, a matching grin on his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll practice.” 

He turned towards the rest of the pack, sharing that damn grin with them, including them in the joke as easy as breathing, getting them to fucking _smile_. Derek had never seen them all smile like that for anyone, not even him. 

Maybe especially not him. 

The man was making a game of it now, trying to guess who was who, although Derek was sure the Cloister’s dossier included their photographs. Jackson pretended to be aloof, of course, and Boyd was always quiet, but Derek could smell the sudden burst of happiness, a scent he didn’t even associate with his pack anymore. 

And it was this damn Acolyte, with his skinny jeans and his stupid hair and his magic tricks that did it. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Derek said through gritted teeth, “but Erica, you know the rules- clothes _on_ while humans are in the house. Go get dressed.” She flashed her fangs and her middle finger at him, but went, grumbling. “Acolyte Stilinski, Scott can show you to your room. I’m going for a run.” 

Derek was out the door in three strides, letting himself run and run and _run_ , trying to forget about the house full of problems that would still be there when he was done.

\---

Dinner that night was anything but quiet. The other candidates had taken their time (what time they stayed, at any rate) integrating into the pack. They unfolded slowly, letting the wolves get used to their presence, incorporating their scent into the Hale household. 

Not Acolyte Stilinski. 

The Acolyte had dropped himself into the seat at the far end of the table, facing Derek, and promptly insisted that everyone call him Stiles. Not Acolyte, or even Acolyte Stiles. Just- Stiles. 

Which was ridiculous. Derek was absolutely not going to allow anyone from the Cloister, much less their own Emissarial candidate, to be treated with so little respect. He’d said so, firmly, and the Acolyte had _made a face_. Boyd had laughed. _Boyd_. 

The traitor.

And now all six of them were chattering away at the Acolyte, asking about his training at the Cloister (Lydia), his favorite video games (Scott), if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend (Erica, of course, who apparently needed another lesson on what it was okay to ask strangers they were trying to impress). 

Derek chewed his spaghetti calmly. Very calmly. 

Isaac asked about Stilinski’s favorite book, at which Jackson sneered like an asshole, but Stilinski just let the snark melt off him and kept answering questions. 

Then he looked at Derek, eyebrow quirked as if asking permission, and coughed. “What I’d really like to talk about is what you guys need from your Emissary. It’s not the same from pack to pack, and I’d like- this will go better if we’re all on the same page from the beginning.”

Derek froze, fork still in his mouth. Was the Acolyte really asking that? What did anyone want from an Emissary? “Safety for the pack.”

The Acolyte nodded. “Alright, that’s understandable, especially as the Alpha. Let’s go down the table. Isaac?”

“Uh.... for Derek to stop yelling about safety all the time?”

Derek’s fork hit his plate with a _clink_ , but before he could say- or snarl- anything, the Acolyte was already speaking. 

“Okay, look. I can already tell that your alpha takes the well-being of this pack seriously, and that’s important. I’ve seen other packs that weren’t like that, and trust me, you don’t want to be in one of them.” He shook his head, hard, gaze dropping to his plate for a moment before he bestowed yet another absurd grin on them all. 

Acolyte Stilinski turned to Lydia. Derek saw the look on her face and knew what was coming. She’d demanded it of each candidate in turn- he suspected it had driven at least one of them away. 

“I want to learn necromantic magic,” she said, before the Acolyte had a chance to ask. “I’m a banshee, I have every right to learn, but I need a sponsor.”

The Acolyte blinked. Necromantic magic- death magic- was highly controversial, even in this day and age, even amongst the supernatural community. In the wrong hands, a practitioner could not only commune with the dead, she could raise and command them- or take a step too far across the veil and go mad. Only banshees and other beings whose powers were rooted in death were allowed to study it; even then, an Emissary had to recommend such a student to the Cloister. 

“Um-” the Acolyte glanced at Derek, floundering. Thought he’d just waltz in and have it easy, hmm? As if all it would take was a few charming smiles? Derek knew he was being unfair, but found it difficult to care as he watched the Acolyte stutter. This was the thing, the _one thing_ Lydia wanted that Derek had no way to give her himself- if Acolyte Stilinski couldn’t handle the idea, he didn’t belong with the Hale pack. 

“Lydia, I’m just an Acolyte, I can’t act as a sponsor-”

A glass shattered in someone’s hand. “Then what _damn good_ are you,” Jackson shouted. “All of you Emissaries, you come in here acting like you’re going to do something, like you’re going to help us, and it’s all bullshit! Nobody gives a damn about this stupid, fucked-up, piece of shit pack!” 

Jackson’s chair hit the floor as he shot up from the table and stormed away, Lydia two steps behind him. Scott followed after them, always the big brother, Isaac trailed after Scott, and where he went, so did Erica and Boyd. In seconds the table was empty, leaving the Acolyte sitting, shell-shocked, while Derek ever-so-calmly kept eating his spaghetti. 

“Welcome to the Hale pack, Acolyte Stilinski,” Derek said.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek was already in his office, waiting, when the Acolyte knocked on the door the next morning. 

“It’s open.” He was ready. He wouldn’t beg, or yell, no matter how badly they needed an Emissary. 

“Alpha Hale? I- wow, seriously, how early did you get up this morning? You look, well, honestly, you look fine because _werewolf_ , but your energies are not in a good place, man.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “I trust this won’t take long, Acolyte?”

“Well, it might,” Acolyte Stilinski said with a frown. “Are you busy? I figured you’d want to talk about a training schedule, maybe go over the territory boundaries so I can start putting some wards together, but it can wait, I guess...”

The polite speech Derek had carefully been crafting fell away. “Uh, well, I-”

“Not a morning wolf, huh? Grab a map, let’s do this over breakfast. Also, seriously, call me Stiles. _Acolyte Stilinski_ is more than a mouthful, and not in a good way.” He threw a wink over his shoulder and headed towards the kitchen.

Derek choked a little. Please, please, let the Acolyte- Stiles? really?- not have seen his flaming blush. ‘Call me Stiles.’ It was... casual. Casual was good, right? Casual was more than any of the other candidates who’d stayed with them. And then _hadn’t_ stayed with them.

They spent an hour in the kitchen poring over a map of the Hale territory in the kitchen, and Derek was more tense and confused at the end of it than at the beginning. The Acolyte seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to warding. He clearly possessed strong magic, and an equally strong will to use it. He had said nothing about the confrontation with Jackson last night. The man couldn’t possibly want to stay, but yet, here he was, in Derek’s kitchen. 

Derek didn’t realize he was staring until Acolyte Stilinski’s- no, Stiles- rambling mouth stuttered to a stop. 

“What? Do I have crumbs on my face or something?” Stiles’ long fingers brushed at his lips. 

“You’re fine,” Derek said. “I was just... thinking. Do you need to get anything from your rooms before we head into the Preserve?”

“Um-” Stiles shook his head. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough just now? I need three days to get the materials together, and it’s better if we perform the ceremony on a full moon. So, we should be good to go next week.” 

“Why?” 

Stiles made a hand-wavy gesture. “Magical theory, mostly. A werewolf’s strength is at peak during the full moon, and the pack bonds are heightened. Both those factors lend more strength to the wards-”

“No,” Derek interrupted. “Why are you bothering? You’ve been here one day. The last candidate we had didn’t put up wards _at all_.”

“Actually, wards aren’t that complex, and you did say safety was your primary concern, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Derek said impatiently. “She claimed she didn’t know the pack well enough to create them. So what makes you think you do, after one day? Are you sure they’re going to work?”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “Yes, of course they’re going to work.” 

Oh, of course. Of course they were going to work. Because _Stiles_ said so. Stiles, an Acolyte he didn’t know, didn’t trust, who wasn’t even an Emissary yet, who wouldn’t be staying because _no one stayed_ -

“How can you be sure? Let me guess, this is your first time out of the Cloister, right?”

Derek could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’d been so insistent that the betas show respect, focused on how badly the pack needed an Emissary, and now here he was, screaming at the man in the kitchen. Because they hadn’t gotten an Emissary- they’d gotten a cocksure little Acolyte who’d probably get them all killed. 

“Listen, _Alpha_ -” Stilinski took a deep breath, eyes locked on Derek. “I may still be only an Acolyte, but it’s not for lack of skill. Warding magic is one, _one_ , of my specialties, and I have a particular affinity for working with were-creatures. Did you even both to read my training dossier? Do you let just anyone wander into your den and sleep with your pack? It’s a wonder you’re all even still alive!”

And just like that, Derek was around the table and crowding up into the man’s space, eyes red, fangs out. Each missing packmate was a jagged shard in his chest, as if time had never dulled the edges. He growled, face a scant inch from Stilinski. 

The scent of ozone rose in the air- Derek’s eyes flicked down to where sparks hovered at Stilinkski’s fingertips. 

He met Derek’s eyes with a sneer. “You might want to just step back, Alpha.” 

Instinct had Derek snarling at the challenge, one arm up in the air without conscious thought, claws fully extended. The sparks at Stilinski’s call were lightning now, crackling around the man’s balled fists. “Don’t you dare,” Derek growled.

Stilinski snarled right back. “Don’t dare to do what, exactly? Protect your pack? Yeah, I can see how that’d be a huge problem for you, since you’re doing such a bang-up job of it.”

“Get. Out.” It took all the effort Derek not to tear the man to shreds.

“Fuck you, _Alpha_ ,” Stilinski said, as he slammed out of the french doors, and, presumably, out of the lives of the Hale pack. 

Good riddance. 

\---

Derek sat in his office and stared at the phone. It had been an hour; surely the call from the Abbott would come soon. The one saying that yet another candidate had rejected their pack. That it was Derek’s fault. 

It _was_ Derek’s fault. Even if he hadn’t calmed down enough to admit it, the potted fern Erica had thrown at his head was a fairly clear message. 

His phone rang. It took a fair amount of effort to answer it, instead of smashing the thing. 

“Hello.”

“Alpha Hale.”

“Abbott Deacon, I’m- I don’t know what to say.” 

The Abbott’s voice was impossible to read. “Acolyte Stilinski told me everything. I must convey my apologies. I truly did believe that he would be a good fit for your pack, but to lose his temper and force a confrontation with you, the Alpha...”

Wait. What?

“I’m afraid that perhaps he wasn’t quite ready to join a pack. He is young, and, to be honest, this isn’t the first time that his impulsivity and... high emotions... have led him to trouble.”

Derek struggled to reply, stymied. “No, that’s not- I’m sorry, Abbott Deacon, that’s not what happened. The fault was mine.” 

“Yours, Alpha?” 

He swallowed. “Yes, Abbott.” 

There was a long pause. “Be that as it may, Alpha Hale, Acolyte Stilinski clearly responded inappropriately, even if it was under provocation. I believe he should return to the Cloister for a time.”

“No!” The surge of denial shocked Derek. He’d thrown the man out himself, in the heat of the moment, but- his betas had never asked him to bring any of the Emissaries back. Much less cared enough to use him for target practice. 

None of the other Emissaries would have bothered to take the blame for Derek’s mistake. 

“Abbott, the choice is yours, of course, but it was a misunderstanding. If anyone needs to learn to contain themselves, it’s me.” 

The Abbott made a quiet, reflective sound. “If things were as you say, Alpha Hale, then I am content to leave Acolyte Stilinski where he is, for the time being.”

Perhaps the Abbott didn’t intend for it to sound like a warning. Derek took it as one, nonetheless. 

“Thank you, Abbott Deacon. I’m sure neither of us will make the same mistake again.”

Derek was still in his office when he heard Stiles return. He also heard his betas gather around to offer their sympathies. Apparently Derek, according to Scott, “could be kind of a dick sometimes.” Isaac agreed, loudly. 

They were only teenagers, Derek reminded himself. What did they know?

Finally, Stiles made his way into the office. They stared at each other as the tension rose. 

Derek broke first. “I spoke with Abbott Deacon; he told me you claimed responsibility for what happened. There was no need for that.”

“I apologize for my behavior, Alpha Hale,” Stiles said; the formal, ritual apology of a pack member to their Alpha. 

Derek let himself fall back on the ritual response. “I accept your apology, Acolyte Stilinski, and offer my own in return.” 

The Acolyte nodded tersely. “I think, Alpha, I should spend some time getting to know the other members of your pack.” 

Derek bit the inside of his cheek. He should try to fix this, establish a bond with his potential Emissary. Make it clear that he wasn’t actually an asshole. He opened his mouth to say so, and then considered Stiles’ stupid grin; his propensity to chatter; the way Derek’s betas _smiled_ at him. 

“I think that would be for the best.”

\---

Stiles set up the wards; Derek nodded and said thank you. He set a room aside for Stiles’ spell and potion supplies; Stiles conveyed his appreciation. Derek ran an extra hour in the morning; Stiles ate lunch late. 

It was tense and awkward, but at least the house was quiet. Stiles had (politely) asked, and (politely) received permission to take the betas out into the preserve for training. His intention was, theoretically, to teach to them how to recognize a variety of wards they might encounter, as well as how to engage an enemy with magical training. 

Derek wouldn’t have minded watching some of it, to be honest, but he’d waved them out of the house and holed up in his bedroom with a book instead. He wanted them focused on learning, not showing off for their Alpha. Deep into the world of _American Gods_ , he was distracted enough that when his cell phone rang, he actually dropped his book on his face. 

One painful conversation later with his neighbor later, Derek was very aware of one factor in Stilinski’s training program. 

Nudity. His teenage betas were, apparently, running naked in the woods. 

Derek was occupied with contemplating all his failures in life when the phone rang again. This time it was Paula from down the road, who at least had teenagers of her own and was more sympathetic than sixty-two year old Mr. Post. 

The third call was from the police department, not-so-delicately implying that if he couldn’t keep his betas in line, someone might be forced to call protective services. An out of control pack was a danger to the entire town, and there were already black marks on the Hales’ record. No one had forgotten crazy Uncle Peter, or Jackson’s time as a kanima, least of all the police. Chief Argent wasn’t too fond of Scott, especially, after he’d been caught in bed with Argent’s daughter. Twice. 

Somehow, undoubtedly, this was going to be Stiles’ fault, Derek knew. Buoyant vitality, Abbott Deaton had said. Boundless curiosity. Derek thought that _menace_ might be more appropriate. 

He was in the hallway, waiting, when the pack tumbled through the front door. They were loud and laughing, happy, and Derek _didn’t care_. He _didn’t_. Someone had to teach his betas what was good for them, and Stiles clearly wasn’t going to help with that. 

“One of you. Explain. Now.” 

Stiles stepped forward, respect in the set of his shoulders, but challenge in the depths of his eyes. There was a twinge in Derek’s belly, frustration coupled with something he didn’t want to name. 

“Well, Alpha-”

“Oh, no, Acolyte Stilinski. Not you. One of them.” He nodded at the line of his betas. His betas who were, currently, naked, soaking wet, and filthy, plastered in muck and leaves. It was as if they’d rolled in the mud and brought several extra pounds of it back in with them. There were honest-to-god _branches_ in Erica’s hair. 

“Isaac,” Derek growled. The boy flinched, and the rest of the betas with him, although Derek didn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes flashed. This was _Derek’s pack_ , damn it, and he would run it the way he saw fit, regardless of what some upstart Acolyte thought. 

“We were-” Isaac stopped, looking at Boyd for support. Boyd nodded, encouraging in a way that made Derek snarl inside. Isaac would never stand on his own if Boyd and Scott were always propping him up. 

“You were what, exactly?”

“Communing with our inner wolves, Alpha.” Isaac shrank back into the line. 

“And this... communing... it somehow required that you make a spectacle of yourselves and bring half the forest back into the house with you?” Derek was shouting by the end of it, eyes flashing red. “Do you know how many people saw you? I’ve had three phone calls already about my betas running wild! We’ll be lucky if hunters don’t show up at our door!”

This time Stiles didn’t keep quiet. “That was my fault, Alpha. I was reckless with a masking spell. I should have been more careful.” 

“You’re damn right you should have been! You’re supposed to be the Emissary, not a foolish child as bad as my betas! I ought to send you straight back to the Cloister!” 

Derek saw Erica bite her lip, caught the way Scott’s fists clenched at the suggestion. Of all the candidates for his pack to settle on, it had to be this one. Of course it did. 

He swallowed back the rest of his anger. “Just... go get cleaned up. All of you. Acolyte, I’ll speak with you after dinner.” 

**Author's Note:**

> For the delightful [notmissmarple](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notmissmarple), who bears all responsibility for this prompt, a very belated Merry Christmas! 
> 
> And to [aweekofsaturdays](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays), thanks for betaing, darling!


End file.
